


Raindrop Spiral

by noos



Series: Sunny Drabbles [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, alternate POV, bc elany okay, i make her suffer and this is her gift, it's also a gift, this is sort of a sequel to Sunshine Spiral?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco's been called clueless before. Several times, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raindrop Spiral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elany/gifts).



> Okay, so, I promised Elany I'd write this a long time ago, and I never got around to doing that (mostly bc I've been working on this other fic that should be up soon) but I wanted to squeeze that in right now. So here it is. It's an alternate pov of Sunshine Spiral, in case the tags weren't clear enough. 
> 
> The title is even worse than Sunshine Spiral tbh.

Marco's been called clueless before. Several times, actually.

In seventh grade, for instance, when Liza wanted him to take her to the Christmas fair and he wouldn't pay attention long enough to notice. In all fairness, it wasn't exactly his fault he was way more interested in her brother Hector.

There was also the time Mel tried to tell him she wanted a guitar for Christmas. Or more like hint at it. Which proved entirely useless when Marco got her that hideous purse her then-boyfriend convinced him to buy.

Or when he got the offer from Dortmund. Everyone knew it was coming, they were all just waiting for it. Except for him, apparently.

Point is, Marco is not always the most observant guy. But. Right now, lightly jogging along the training grounds in his thin shirt, training shorts and knee-highs, his cap perched on his head, he can see Mario staring all the way from across the field. He also noticed it when he arrived to training in his thermal leggings this morning, and when he took them off because it was too hot.

And yeah, he's feeling particularly evil today, so he just starts slowly strutting towards Marco and Mats and Kevin, taking the time to wipe his face with his shirt and lifting it a little higher than necessary, keeping a straight face as he meets Mario's eyes.

It's payback, really, for that stunt Mario pulled the week before. How dare he wear that white Germany kit when it's _raining_ outside. It doesn't matter that they were training with the national team, and it certainly doesn't matter that this is their standard issued gear, Mario should've known better than to show up to training in that kit. Marco nearly tripped several hundred times and it had absolutely nothing to do with the slippery grass and everything to do with Mario's shirt suddenly turning into a transparent flimsy little thing and clinging to his body like a fucking tattoo. And the dirt covering his arms and neck from all the times he slipped trying to score certainly didn't help. It made him look like the hero of a fucking Greek tragedy. In cleats.

Marco wills himself to stop thinking about this lest it all backfires, focusing instead on the paling boy he's currently making a beeline for. He can see him pointing at something behind him weakly, eyes not leaving Marco's face, and they're so close now, just a few more steps until Marco can reach out and touch him. It's that thought that tips Marco over the edge, the grin he's been trying to hide finally taking hold of his face, his mouth quirking up on one side as he takes in the mumbling mess that is his best friend.

Mario doesn't even stay for a moment longer, turning in his spot and making a beeline for the changing rooms.

"Where did he go?" Marco asks innocently when he's close enough for his friends to hear, nodding after Mario and turning to look at Mats, his smirk intact.

"I don't know," Mats shrugs, blocking a shot that comes his way. "He didn't look too good. Maybe he's sick or something."

"Or something," Marco mutters under his breath, eyeing the doorway where Mario's disappeared for a moment longer before turning to go back to the pitch.

 


End file.
